The Enduring Old-School, New-School Legacy of Rubirosa

Pizza has a powerful allure, analogous to that of AJ. His conviviality made Rubirosa comfortable; his cultural consciousness made it contemporary. In a city full of strangers, he made them all his regulars. Yes, he acknowledged his family’s legacy, the lure, the ubiquity of pizza here in New York and especially in Little Italy, just south of Nolita — but everything else was his, and it wasn’t anachronistically stuck in the past.

“I constantly ask: Would AJ like this?” says Maria Pappalardo, AJ’s younger sister. When AJ died, Maria jumped in to take the helm. Although she’d worked in her dad’s pizzeria while growing up, and occasionally hosted early on at Rubirosa, she’d made a career as a casting director for 30 years, hiring voiceover actors for ad spots for companies like GE, Pepsi, and McCains.

*****

AJ got his chops at the Culinary Institute of America, before cooking at Manhattan icons like the Maccioni family’s Osteria del Circo, and the Bastianich family’s Esca with chef Dave Pasternack.

AJ named Rubirosa after his favorite restaurant in Florence, not initially knowing that the original was a tribute to an enigmatic, international playboy from the Dominican Republic, Porfirio Rubirosa. In the restaurant, there are two photos of Rubirosa; the first, large and in black and white shows him driving a Ferrari, whereas the second is a small quiet image of him casually sitting at a table with friends. That same duplicity, flash and ease, is what the restaurant is all about.

For AJ, Rubirosa was never meant to be fancy: It was familiar fare, throwbacks made greater not by increasing amount of food on the plate and the price, but by redirecting the fount from which it poured. Rather than just saying “pasta” on the menu, it was “lumache,” but still coated alla vodka. Rubirosa’s meatballs tap the trifecta of beef, pork, and veal as opposed to just beef. For traditionalists, know there’s a mountainous chicken parmigiano there to comfort you. The famous Tie Dye pizza, though, changed everything. Tableside, waiters spiral garden-green pesto atop a marinara and vodka sauce swirled pie. Perfect pools of pearl white mozzarella produce cheese pulls that stretch an arm’s length for superlative slice selfies. (Funny enough, Joe & Pat’s NYC, both in Manhattan and Staten Island, does a Tri-Pie rendition now, because of demand). Rubirosa’s house wines are Sicilian: a red Nero d’Avola, a white Grillo, and a Nerello Mascalese rosé, and it has a shelf of amari that includes everything from Sicily’s dell’Etna to Greenpoint’s St. Agrestis, and an Italian pilsner from Flagship Brewing in Staten Island.

Another of Rubirosa’s unique draws is its impressive gluten-free menu, which AJ initially built to account for Maria’s gluten intolerance, which includes 12-inch Venice Beach Bakery crusts and De Puma pastas. The restaurant is on the approved list for those with celiac disease, as a safe place to eat.

Maria says her father, Joe, never wanted AJ to open his own place; he wanted him to take over the family business. “My mom threatened to leave my dad if he didn’t [let AJ try],” says Maria. AJ’s business plan was pragmatic: to play up nostalgia — but with better ingredients and intention. Or as Maria, says, “It’s like Nonna’s, but we wipe off the sauce on the edge of the plate.” Joe didn’t fully accept the decision until after AJ died, although he helped fund the project.

With Rubirosa, AJ created classics in today’s canon. Food that everyone would want. In a place everyone wanted to be. In other words, Rubirosa became one of those places that has something for everyone, but also, makes everyone feel like someone as well. Whether you’re Adam Sandler, Harry Styles, or Sir Paul McCartney — all of whom have dined at Rubirosa — or just a typical tourist, anyone can stop in and feel both lavished upon and at completely at home.

*****

This sense of welcome begins with Julio Morales, who’s been Rubirosa’s general manager for more than a decade. He’s ebullient and self-effacing and is often out front shaking hands with delivery drivers and sneakerheads from the Kith store down the block. Morales says he was initially drawn to Rubirosa for the same reason many people are: “It felt new, a blend of young energy, [even though] the place looks like it’s been here for 50 years … It was the vibe, the music, the lack of pretense.”

As a testament to AJ’s knack for bringing everyone in, he and Morales became quick friends. “He was thoughtful about every decision, and always wanted to hear other people’s opinions,” says Morales. “I immediately took to that. [It’s a huge part of how I manage and work with other people.” And it has become the unofficial credo of the place. “Simply put, make people feel wanted, and they’ll want to be there,” Morales says.

Raul Carpinteiro, has been making the pastas since day one — flat noodles and ravioli on an Italgi extruder, rigatoni and otherwise on a La Monferrina. Nelson Sierra’s been on prep since the beginning, too. Graciela Suarez, Misael Beltran, Alberto Rivera and Anastacio Rosas are all lifers, as well. Serena Cuevas, Rubirosa’s gifted generalist, arrives at 5:30 a.m., handles Department of Health walk-throughs, checks catering papers at every station, and starts cooking family meal at 7 to 7:30 a.m., before arranging flowers and working expo until she leaves around 2 p.m. Christy Soba, the HR/IT person, and Michele Li, an assistant general manager, are both a few years in. They start their days in the back of the restaurant at booths, clicking on computers, buttoning down reservations, migrating tables as more employees pile in, until late lunchtime when they order their usuals: For Li, it’s plain lumache, with a caprese side, which she cuts into the pasta; Soba prefers cavatelli with sausage and broccoli rabe. Cuevas knows both orders by heart. In the winter, they all turn to Italian wedding soup.

It’s Maria who is one of the more recent hires, but she’s come to embody the matriarchal role, and treats the restaurant like her only child. Maria says she, just like her father, used to eat six slices a day when she first took over, crediting it to the same “quality check” that her father lived by at Joe & Pat’s. With its thin crust (both Joe and Maria think it is thinner in Manhattan), Rubirosa’s whole small pie is easy to devour on your own. Frequently, you’ll see her practicing what she preaches at table 99, the one up front by the window, which they keep for walk-ins.

*****

On a recent summer day, there are upwards of 350 expected for lunch, and more than 300 for dinner. You can feel the bustle from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. In the back, the FISH rotating rack oven, one similar to what they use at Joe & Pat’s, pumps out pies nonstop. As legend has it, Maria says, when AJ died, the oven stopped working — the only time ever. The galley kitchen in the rear dining room isn’t built for the volume; instead, it produces Sunday Sauce, a Sunday-only special that is one of the restaurant’s most popular orders: braciole, meatballs, pork sausage, and braised ribs on spaghetti or lumache. They’ll move hundreds of orders per week.

Rubirosa is all about the personal touches — be it a welcome back note, happy birthday or anniversary cards, or the palm-sized pizza box of milk chocolate slices with white chocolate mushrooms to round out the meal. (Note: It took Julio and Maria months to find the right mold to make these chocolates downstairs.) If a dish takes too long to get to the table, zeppole are sent out — and no one is ever unhappy to see them. If a song is playing and servers glance at guests trying to figure it out, they’ll write it down for them on the check, like a real-life Shazam app.

Rubirosa’s reach spreads beyond Mulberry Street these days, with requisite restaurant merch like branded pens, long rectangular match boxes, totes, T-shirts, and brimmed hats leaving with many of its guests. The restaurant also sells its own line of pastas and sauces, which can now be found in shops around the country. Nevertheless, there’s no substitute for physically being in such a spirited space.

Above table 34 in the back room, a faded photo of AJ is divinely illuminated by a skylight. But on the front of the menus, it’s an image of AJ and Maria’s parents, Joe and Lena, with “Mangiamo!” (“let’s eat” in Italian) printed underneath.

As if it wasn’t fully apparent, as I leave the restaurant, Morales tells me, “The place covets family, tradition, memory.” And Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” plays me out.

Rubirosa is open daily from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.

Michael Harlan Turkell is a food photographer, writer, and cookbook author. He most recently hosted the Modernist Pizza Podcast, and continues to explore the art, history, and science of many foodways. Follow him on Instagram and X. Follow Resy, too.